Hey. this was written for round 10 of the quidditch comp. i had to write about neville near the end of his life. I tried to incorporate all of my teammate's stories; they are, in chyronological order:

1. Validity by trollnexus (I barely got that one in there)

2. Luminescent by LuxaLucifer

3. Rectifying Mistakes by erm31323

4. Shepherd's Pie by Calumniator

5. Night of the Living Verdure by MaryRoyale

I wanted to do the whole team, but I'm busy this weekend...anyway, i hope you like it.

"How strange," he said as Hannah held his arm, keeping him steady. "This whole reunion idea. Don't you think it's strange, honey?"

"Yes and no," said his wife, voice quavering as she patted his hand with one of her own liver-spotted ones. "It will be good to see everyone from the D.A., don't you think?"

"A bit late, don't you think?" he retorted, feeling instantly bad. "I mean," he amended. "We're old now. Why not one before now?"

His musings were interrupted by the person who was greeting people at the door, whose shock of messy gray hair and green eyes revealed him as none other than Harry Potter. Neville couldn't help but grin at the sight of his old friend and, as he called him in his head sometimes, savior. At the end of the day, that's what Harry was.

"Neville!" said Harry, grinning with the strange vigor that some old men possessed. "Hannah! I'm glad you're here, it wouldn't have been the same without you! Go on in, you two."

Neville and Hannah slowly made their way into the building, where a large room was set up with tables and a dance floor in the middle, presumably for mingling. Hannah, spotting Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, moved away to talk to her own friends. Neville considered joining her, but after catching a snippet of Ernie's boasting about his new Muggle yacht, he decided against it.

He spotted George Weasley joking with Lee Jordan, who had gray dreadlocks pulled back in what his old Gran would have called a hippie hairstyle. Neville almost joined them, wanting to hear Lee talk about his years as a radio talk show host, but decided against it. He had never been their friend, and old habits die hard.

Instead he joined Luna and Ginny, who were sitting at a table nursing butterbeer and chatting. Luna, Neville thought, made a very unusual old lady, her dishwater blonde hair liberally streaked with gray and her large, pale eyes unchanged in her wrinkled face. Neville loved her for it.

"Hello, Neville," said Luna as he approached. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Ginny and I were just discussing grandchildren."

Ginny's mouth tightened as Luna spoke. "Luna, didn't we agree not to-"

"Ginny thinks we shouldn't mention children in front of you," said Luna candidly. "Just because you didn't have any. But I think you're happy. Are you?"

"Yes," said Neville, pulling out a seat to rest his aching bones. "I am. I have generations of children, all of them at Hogwarts."

"A lot of teachers there say that," said Ginny, smiling. "I even heard McGonagall say it once. Of course, that was after three or four glasses of scotch."

"People say anything after a little alcohol," said Neville. "I've learned that from my time at the Leaky."

"I'm glad you found Hannah," said Luna. "She convinced you to do the right thing and stop being an Auror. When you told me about your plan for that, when we were standing in the rubble, I knew it was wrong."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you had to know on your own."

They fell into a casual conversation, the familiarity of it nearly threatening to overwhelm him. How many conversations had he had like this? How many hundreds? What a thing, growing old.

"Can I join you?" came a new voice as a woman with bushy gray hair approached them, glasses perched on her nose. "Harry and my husband are talking about their Quidditch days, and I can't stand it another second."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Watch what you say," she warned.

Hermione smirked. "It has nothing to do with Quidditch; I just think hearing a story twenty or so times rather wears you out on it."

Ginny shrugged. "Point taken."

"How's Hogwarts, Neville?" asked Hermione. "No student rebellions, no dark forces trying to get in? No giant snakes plaguing the pipes?"

"None of that," he chuckled. "Although life at Hogwarts is never too calm."

"Didn't you cause all the students to turn into zombies once?" asked Ginny, leaning forward with her elbow on the table. "With some rare plant?"

He scowled. "That was your son, which you'd remember if you didn't have a suspicious selective memory. It was James who put the sap in the Slytherins' drinks."

Ginny shook her head. "How horrible," she said unconvincingly. "That my son would do a thing like that."

"You're not fooling anyone," said Luna. "We can all tell you're quite pleased with the events of that day."

"Well, it's not every day your son turns three hundred kids into zombies."

"I didn't say you shouldn't be proud," replied Luna sweetly.

Luna and Ginny began to talk about some inside joke that only he got, so he excused himself and went off to continue mingling, retrieving himself a bottle of butterbeer as he did so.

"I'm so sorry to hear about Terry," Dean Thomas was saying as Neville passed, leaning on a cane as he talked with Michael Corner. "When Seamus died, I was devastated. Losing our best friend hurts."

Neville didn't stick around to hear any more. The older he got, more of them died. Life worked that way. He felt a little cheated; he only really felt his life had begun when he pulled that sword out of the hat and proved himself a true Gryffindor. In that line of thought, he'd had seventeen years less than the others.

He was lost in thought so long that he didn't know how long it had been when a soft hand jolted him out of his daze. It was Hannah. Even after all these years, seeing her face filled him with love. He leaned down and kissed her, surprising her.

"They've started a dance," she said. "Want to join?"

"It's not our song," he complained as she led him to the floor. "It's never our song."

"Do you really remember our song?" she asked him as they positioned themselves for a slow dance. "The first one we danced to, when you were too shy to ask me out? I don't. I love you, but I don't."

He thought about it.

"No," he said. "I don't either."

They were old. They were allowed to forget about things like their first dance together, as long as there were still more to come.